We get a glimpse into that closed world in Bereshit Rabbah, the great rabbinic commentary on the Book of Genesis. Let's dive into one fascinating little story.

“It was at the end of forty days, and Noah opened the window of the ark that he made” (Genesis 8:6). Remember that mysterious word tzohar (Genesis 6:15), used to describe the ark’s light source? Well, Rabbi Abba bar Kahana, as quoted in Bereshit Rabbah 31:11, interprets it as a window. This verse, “Noah opened the window,” backs up that idea. Makes sense, right?

Then comes the raven. Noah sends it out, and “it went back and forth, until the drying of the water from upon the earth” (Genesis 8:7). But what does "back and forth" really mean?

Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, offers a striking image: The raven wasn’t just aimlessly flying around. It was arguing with Noah! Can you imagine? "Of all the creatures here, why me?" the raven essentially squawked. "Why not send one of the animals where you have seven of them? You only have two ravens! Send me out, and you risk wiping out my entire species!"

Noah, according to this midrash, wasn’t thrilled. He retorted, “What good are you anyway? You’re neither fit for food nor for sacrifice!” Ouch. Noah basically told the raven it was useless.

But then, a surprising twist. Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Abba bar Kahana, says that the Holy One, blessed be He, tells Noah: “Accept it back! The world will need it in the future." Noah asks, naturally, "When?" And the answer: “Until the drying of the water from upon the earth” – meaning, a righteous man will need it in the future. This righteous man, the tradition tells us, is Elijah the prophet.

The connection? As we know from I Kings 17:6, “The ravens [orevim] would bring him bread and meat in the morning, and bread and meat in the evening.” So, God knew that even this seemingly "useless" creature would play a crucial role in sustaining a great prophet.

Now, Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Neḥemya have a little back-and-forth about those ravens. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that orevim refers to people from a city called Aravi, near Beit She’an. But Rabbi Neḥemya insists they were actual ravens, bringing food from Yehoshafat's table. It's a reminder that even within tradition, there's room for different interpretations.

The text then veers into a powerful, almost jarring, direction. It recounts how Rabbi Akiva once delivered a homily in Ginzak about the generation of the Flood. Surprisingly, the people didn’t weep for the annihilation of an entire generation. But when he told them the story of Job, they broke down. Why?

Rabbi Akiva applies the verse from Job 24:20 to the generation of the Flood: “The womb will forget him; he will be sweet for the maggots; he will no longer be remembered, and injustice will be broken like a tree.” The commentary unpacks this grim verse. “The womb [reḥem] will forget him” means they caused mercy [raḥamim] to be forgotten among mankind, so God, in turn, forgot His mercy for them. Their flesh would be food for maggots, and their injustice would be broken, never to regenerate.

Rabbi Abbahu emphasizes the word "broken" rather than "uprooted." A tree that's uprooted can be replanted. But one that's broken is beyond repair. The passage concludes by linking this brokenness to the generation of the Dispersion, who, after the Tower of Babel incident, never regained their unified language and speech (Genesis 11:1).

What does this all mean? It seems to be about the consequences of cruelty, the interconnectedness of all beings, and the enduring need for mercy and compassion. Even a seemingly insignificant raven has a purpose. And a society that forgets mercy is doomed to be forgotten itself. It’s a sobering thought, isn’t it? A reminder that our actions, both big and small, have lasting consequences.